


Whisper

by det395



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/det395/pseuds/det395
Summary: Percy knows what his future holds: a continuation of his poor health, a life of institutionalization, inevitable separation from the Montague siblings. He's learning how impossible it is to emotionally prepare for his departure when his love for Monty only glows brighter and stronger.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53





	Whisper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randomcat1832](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomcat1832/gifts).



> happy birthday cat <3  
> and thank you charlotte for reading this over!  
> title from the song whisper by the dear hunter

> _Dear Percy,_
> 
> _I just might die. Those rippling muscles and those deep, brown eyes are too much for my poor heart. Lest I forget about those glorious glutes, either. Despite my best efforts, Stephen is still completely oblivious of my intentions. I must’ve lost ten years of my life with this heartbreak._
> 
> _I suppose it’s for the best, I already plan to die early. Nobody wants to see this beautiful skin droop or this glorious hair thin. My wits may get me far, but at what cost?_
> 
> _If I ever see the day of ageing, that is. I don’t know how I’ll recover from the knowledge that Stephen, miraculously, doesn’t seem to have a soft spot for beautiful men. I can’t even imagine such a life._
> 
> _Monty_
> 
> _PS. I may never forgive you for bailing on me tonight. What will it take? A full-scale jailbreak? I’m sure we can come up with something._

Percy has the absurd urge to both smile and pout at the same time. Perhaps he can imagine Monty is talking about his own brown eyes and his… maybe not rippling but certainly not _lacking_ muscles. As for his glutes, he’s really not sure, and the fact that he’s thinking about it now is making him blush. 

The best of Monty’s drama and endearing wit is all for him to enjoy, at least. He gets to see a darn lot of it. Except for tonight.

He’s become perceptible to his own body, to the warning signs of worsening health. It’s not something he can risk, not out drinking with only Monty to take care of him. He shudders at the thought.

He sets Monty’s letter to the side and watches as it gets swiftly lifted up by the wind and drops on the grass. He doesn’t find he cares too much. He tries to soak up the last remnants of today's sun and, once again, tries to imagine what his future is going to look like. Monty’s drama may have rubbed off on him because it feels like the end of his life is imminent. 

He has to believe being institutionalized is better than that.

He sits and mopes until he hears a ruffling behind him and turns to see Felicity huffing and panting, her hair all out of place. He spots a suspicious rectangular lump under her dress.

“Oh. Percy.” She straightens up as she catches her breath.

“Hello, Felicity.”

She doesn’t mention the lump. “I thought you’d be off doing sinful things with Monty by now.”

His eyes widen slightly at the suggestion but he remembers this is Felicity and she can’t mean _that._ He quickly recovers. “Wasn’t feeling good.”

She comes closer immediately and kneels in front of him, looking far too happy for what comes out of her mouth.

“Really? What are your symptoms?” She asks.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Just tell me.”

He shakes his head and something must show in his expression because she drops her head bashfully. 

“I hope you feel better,” she says. Her pout resembles Monty just the slightest bit and it’s frustratingly impactful on his gut.

He looks down at the lump under her dress. “Will you tell me about what you’re reading?”

Her eyes brighten up. “Really?” she asks.

Percy nods and watches as she reaches her hand down the side of her petticoat and pulls out a rather worn book. She flips to a seemingly random page of endless text.

“So...” she takes a deep breath in. “A great contribution to the field of preventative medicine…”

-

It _is_ rather interesting until the conversation ventures into medical concepts Percy could never dream of understanding and soon he can’t help but yawn and excuse himself.

It was worth it to see Felicity excited again. Percy feels a certain protectiveness over her as if she’s his own little sister, and he can’t help but worry just a smidge over her not hanging out with that Johanna girl anymore. Nonetheless, he knows her well enough to understand that nagging or pitying her would only make her angry.

“If you see my parents, tell them I’ve been cross-stitching this entire time,” she whispers to him, gathering up her book in her arms.

He nods conspiratorially and heads off to his room. Might as well try to sleep before images of Monty shagging some random person intrudes his mind. There is one thing he misses about the nights they go out together, and that’s passing out in bed together at the end of the night.

Maybe he ought to tell Monty about his feelings one day if it’s going to constantly invade his brain like this.

Then again, it’ll make it all that much harder when he’s at the institution.

He lays his head down on the pillow but sleep still feels far away, too many worries bumping around in his mind as the minutes drag by. The stress isn’t good for him but neither is any means to forget his sorrows.

A few chaotic bumps and knocks from the hallway eventually pull him out of his thoughts. Something definitely crashes to the floor and there’s only a short pause to follow. He listens carefully as the noises come closer until they stop and the knocking is suddenly purposeful and on _his_ door.

He rolls out of bed and looks down at his nightwear, the loose, white fabric that’s slightly too short after his growth spurt. The banging grows insistent so he hurries to the door and hopes it’s no one important.

Monty. Well, shit. And he doesn’t seem to have noticed Percy open the door because he raps his fist forward one more time and, not having met the wood, stumbles right into Percy’s chest.

“Monty?” It’s still so early in the night, it really makes no sense for Monty to be here. At a strange noise against his chest, Percy grabs onto Monty’s shoulder and pushes him upright.

Blood. Right there, dried under his nose and smeared on his clothes. A worrying amount of blood, really. Percy’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water but Monty just stares at him with a strange look and stumbles back and forth where he stands. Percy grabs his shoulders firmly so he doesn’t tip right over.

“What the hell did you do?” Percy asks.

Monty winces and looks down.

Percy tries again. “Who the hell did this to you?” 

Monty looks up again and Percy sees how bloodshot his eyes are. It might not be late into the night, but he’s clearly managed to get completely plastered in that short amount of time. He’s uncharacteristically quiet; this ought to be a record for the longest time he’s gone without talking. Finally, he opens his mouth.

“Stephen. Definitely does not fancy me back,” Monty croaks. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Percy says. He guides Monty to his bed, where he immediately collapses backward with a sigh.

Percy runs to grab a basin of water and a cloth. Monty is like a rag doll spread across the bed when he returns. Percy grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him up again.

“Oh. Why hello there. Want it rough, huh?” Monty all but slurs. His eyes are closed and he sways back and forth. He’s smiling ever so slightly, a strange contrast to the smeared blood.

“Oh God, stop. Monty, it’s me.” Percy shakes him slightly.

Monty’s eyes pop open wide. Then he hiccups. “Oh. ‘M drunk.”

“I noticed. I thought you’d still be out drinking, or with someone.”

  
  
“No liaisons on this fair night. Unless you’re offering.” 

Percy gulps. _Don’t reply. He’s intoxicated._ Blood is everywhere, he really needs to focus on this. Monty's eyes are trailing slowly down the line of his body so Percy gets a finger under his chin and lifts before he himself gets distracted.

“Monty, just stay still for me?”

Percy wets the cloth and feels momentarily grateful for Monty’s intoxication. He won’t notice the burning blush on his face when he can’t even focus his eyes.

He gently dabs the cloth against Monty’s lip, where he sees a small cut. The cloth dyes itself pinker and pinker and Percy has to clench his teeth to hide his own emotions.

Monty is so still and quiet. He stares at Percy with crossed eyes. It’s a strange moment of serenity and he wishes it wasn’t ruined by this drunkenness or injury.

“Percy?” 

“Yeah?” He dabs at some blood that trailed down Monty’s neck and Monty gulps as he does it.

“Percy, what is it about me?” 

“What?”

“Am I—” he hiccups “—that insufferable?” 

Percy hesitates but tuts and says, “No, ‘course not.”

“No. I am,” he mumbles. “I have a punchable face.”

“You don’t.” Percy tries unsuccessfully to meet his unfocused eyes. “You don’t,” he repeats.

“Then why else do people want t’ punch me?”

Percy starts shaking his head immediately and thinks of what to say that can make Monty stop looking that sad.

“I deserve it, don’t I?”

Percy grabs his cheeks and lets the cloth fall between his fingers.

“You don’t, okay, Monty? You _never_ deserve it. Do you understand me? Never.”

Slowly Monty nods and his lip quivers slightly. For a second, Percy sees his eyes come into focus. Then he grabs the damp cloth and unceremoniously blows his nose into it.

“I’m a mess,” he says.

“You are, indeed,” Percy says, gently. He hesitantly drops his hands. He wonders if Monty will remember this moment together, or if those thoughts will plague Monty throughout the days to come. He thinks of all the other times he saw Monty bloody or purple and he feels suddenly sick to his stomach. It’s the worst feeling in the world to see Monty so defeated and broken down, and he so desperately wants to fix it. And here he is, counting down the days before he has to say goodbye to this captivating boy.

Monty doesn’t say another word. He flops back on the bed with his arms outstretched. Oh, dear. There’s a reason they always share Monty’s bed and it’s because his greater capital translates into a much wider sleeping area. This will have to make do, for tonight.

Percy first heads out to find a glass of drinking water and sets it next to Monty’s head. Then he struggles to pull Monty’s arm out of his bloody dress shirt. He gently fixes his undershirt to preserve his modesty, even if Monty would say he had none to begin with.

Percy climbs over his limbs carefully, and slots himself on Monty’s other side on top of the blankets. Monty immediately curls into him and bunches up his shirt in his fist. He feels small in his arms. How Percy wishes he could stay here and protect him forever. Hold him forever. Be together, somewhere far from Monty's dad and this life here.

Hope feels nourishing, but it is a dangerous game. This is too temporary. Soon Percy will have to give up this entire life, and he needs to emotionally prepare for that and not be attached to Monty. 

Monty’s voice in his ear startles him. He was sure Monty was unconscious. Maybe he _is_ still unconscious. Nonetheless, he hears the phrase clearly.

“I hate Richard Peele,” Monty mutters, smacking his lips together.

Percy smiles and hugs him a bit closer. Then he whispers back, “We hate Richard Peele.” Monty doesn’t reply.

He’ll emotionally prepare some other time. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr link!](https://det395.tumblr.com/post/624909821989322752/whisper)


End file.
